


In Everything and Nothing

by fightforyourwrite



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Bedrooms, Classical Music, Doodles, F/F, Poetry, Rain, Writing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-25
Updated: 2017-08-25
Packaged: 2018-12-19 20:57:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 930
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11906082
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fightforyourwrite/pseuds/fightforyourwrite
Summary: Historia and Ymir show their work to each other.





	In Everything and Nothing

Ymir’s drawings are truly strange. Historia has seen her doodling strange designs and scribbles on her notebooks in class, or occasionally on the edges of her homework. But the best of what Ymir has to offer is always in her sketchbook. 

Historia sits comfortably on her bed and looks over Ymir’s work with interest. She flips through exceedingly abstract doodles of people and objects. When she gets to something that appears to be a potato with eyes, she stops flipping and holds up the sketchbook. 

“Ymir, who’s this supposed to be?” 

After flipping a record to its second side, Ymir turns around. She gets a look at the drawing and answers: “That’s Mr. Shadis.” She lets out a laugh and rolls her eyes, “What can I say? I got bored in Social Studies.”

It takes another look at the drawing, but when Historia sees the resemblance, she chuckles. “Better make sure he doesn’t see this. He might not like it.” 

Ymir shrugs as she places the tonearm onto the vinyl, “What Mr. Shadis knows won’t hurt him.”

As she gets back to the bed, Historia’s record player plays a composition of Claude Debussy’s throughout the room. Clair De Lune mixes soothingly with the soft sounds of droplets thumping against the window. 

Historia’s home is an interesting place. The place is reasonably spacious but the walls are barren. The townhouse has a habit of constantly feeling empty, no matter how many people may be in it during the given moment. 

No one would ever think that the place housed two different people, seeing as Historia’s mother was consistently absent during daylight hours. 

The fact doesn’t seem to bother Historia, however. She has seemingly numbed herself to the constant truancy of her own mother. 

Ymir lays herself beside Historia. The shorter girl is now on her back, holding the sketchbook up so it hovers her head. Quietly, Ymir watches as Historia flips through all of her work, from the random doodles to the sketches of their classmates at school. 

After moments of mindless flipping, Ymir reaches up and snatches her notebook back. 

“Hey!” Historia exclaims. She turns her head to the side, “I was still looking over that.” 

“Relax, Princess,” Ymir teases. She rolls over and reaches down to the bedroom floor. Down there is her rain-soaked skateboard that she rudely dragged through the pristine townhouse and her backpack. She hastily slides her sketchbook into her bag. “Whenever we hang out, you’re always looking at my junk.” 

“Your junk in question just happens to be interesting,” Historia points out. She gets on her side and props her head up on her elbow. 

“Can’t we even this out then?” Ymir asks. She zips her bag shut and rolls back around. She shuffles a bit to get comfortable and bumps her knee against Historia’s feet. “Got anything to show me? Even if it’s junk, I mean… come on, we all make junk in this world.” 

Historia thinks for a moment, Ymir can practically see the gears turning in her head. Then Historia looks apprehensive. Sheepishly, she says: “Maybe…” 

Ymir leans in rather close to Historia and grins cheekily, “What is it?” 

“You have to promise to not laugh,” Historia says. She gets up and turns over to her side of the bed. From between the mattress and the box spring, she she slips a small notebook out from what appears to be a hiding place. 

“Oh my god, are you gonna read me your diary?” Ymir asks, seemingly amazed. 

Historia shakes her head as she grabs her browline spectacles from her nightstand. “Not exactly, no,” she clarifies. She places her red frames on her face, “It’s poetry, by the way.” 

Ymir raises an eyebrow, “Since when do you write poetry?”

“Since we did a unit on it in English class,” Historia explains. She flips through the notebook, which is filled with her scribbly handwriting, and goes to a page that’s marked by a bookmark. With ready eyes, she looks up at Ymir, “Do you really wanna hear this?” 

Ymir nods, “Yeah, why not? Something’s gotta distract me from this Debussy shit.” 

“It’s not shit, Ymir, it’s lovely,” Historia corrects, sitting up properly with her legs crossed. “And if you really don’t wanna hear any of my junk, I can put it away.” 

“No no no, I want to, Historia,” Ymir contends. Clearly, the situation is dire when she doesn’t refer to Historia as ‘Princess’ or anything of the sort. “Please?” 

Historia adjusts her drooping glasses and pushes them back up the bridge of her nose, “Mind you, it’s not completed yet…” She takes a deep breath and recites: 

_ I’m starting to understand the world around me.  _

_ The ups, the downs, the neverending tragedies.  _

_ In everything and nothing, I have you.  _

_ A feeling of light that makes me feel true.  _

_ The world will always move fast and slow.  _

_ Just hold me, and love me, and never let me go. _

When Historia finishes reading, her eyes dart up to see a soft smile spread across Ymir’s face. The mellowness of the expression spreads to Historia. She can feel herself wanting to smile as well. 

The fourth and final movement of Claude Debussy’s Suite Bergamasque plays out of the turntable speakers. Droplets descend from the rain above and fall onto the glass of Historia’s window. 

“That was nice,” Ymir eventually says after a moment of silence. 

“Was it really?” Historia questions, shutting her notebook. “Or are you just saying that because I look cute in these glasses?” 

Ymir chuckles and remarks, “How about a bit of both?” 

**Author's Note:**

> I think I'm gonna keep writing it in that Historia wears glasses. I don't think I can let that headcanon go.


End file.
